


how to be an adult

by valety



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Other, POV Second Person, Post-Pacifist Route, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-28 00:05:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6305674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valety/pseuds/valety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day in the life of two almost-grown ups trying to be people together (featuring Frisk).</p>
            </blockquote>





	how to be an adult

**Author's Note:**

> this is so self-indulgent, I'm crying....I just want my kids to be happy dumb adults together
> 
> chara and asriel are 19-20, frisk is about 17

Like most mornings, you wake up tangled in the blankets, one foot sticking out over the edge, an arm slung across your face. You experimentally remove your arm, then groan as the light streaming in between the curtains hits your eyes.

Asriel is clinging to you like he’s twelve again and you’re his favourite teddy bear. He gives a sleepy little murmur, then squeezes your middle even tighter. Glancing down at him, you feel a sudden rush of affection that almost makes you want to kiss him on the forehead. Instead, you give him a sharp poke on the snout and say, “Wake up.”

He grunts and yawns, eyelids fluttering open, and then he’s staring up at you with bleary eyes. “Morning,” he says sleepily, cracking a tiny smile.

“We have to be adults today,” you say.

“No we don’t.”

“Yes we do.”

“It’s _Saturday.”_

“Yes, and unless you've enlisted the services of a magical grocery fairy without telling me, we have to go shopping, or else we’ll have no food.”

“We don’t need food.”

 _“I_ do.”

“Just eat Frisk,” Asriel mumbles, once again burying his face in your chest.

You snort. He’s always weirder in the mornings when he’s too drowsy to have boundaries. You doubt he’ll even remember that he said that later.

“They’re not here yet, dummy,” you say, running a hand over one of his ears.

“Mm.”

You push him off the bed. He rolls over the edge without a fight, landing on the floor with a gentle _whump, and_ you leave to take a shower.

Your apartment is a one bedroom suite on the ninth floor of a building in the heart of downtown. There’s a kitchen, a bathroom, an in-building coin-operated laundry, and no furniture other than what your friends and family have given you as housewarming gifts, meaning a bed and little else.

For a goat monster who’d grown up in the Underground, Asriel sure had been a lot pickier about apartments than you’d have expected. Back when you’d first started looking for a place, he’d kept responding to everything you found with a plea to let him look for something better.

“You don’t have to settle,” he’d told you at least a hundred times. “I can get you something nicer. Mom and dad can help, even.”

But it wasn't settling for you, no matter what Asriel thought. Even though the apartment you’d eventually chosen had no lights and you had to eat off of the floor because you had no table, it was your first major step towards the independence you’d been craving since you were a child. Sure, Toriel and Asgore would probably pull some strings and buy you an entire townhouse if you asked them to, but you wanted a place that you could keep on your own. You may be splitting the rent with Asriel, but you wanted to theoretically be able to afford it by yourself. The apartment was for _you,_ after all, even though Asriel was insistent about living with you. You know he’s well-off enough to be fine on his own should he ever decide to leave, but you don’t want to have to give up your freedom should the worst-case scenario come to pass.

You don’t want to feel as though you have no choice but to rely on the kindness of other people. Never again.

You’d explained all that to Asriel, and though he’d seemed upset at first (“Why are you assuming I might leave? Do you seriously think I’d just abandon you?”), he’d eventually conceded. “I’ll be happy wherever you’re happy,” he’d said, albeit somewhat grudgingly, and when it turned out that _happy_ for you meant eating off the floor in the dark for the sake of living within walking distance of the university, he’d agreed with (almost) no complaints.

Your happiness was genuine, despite what anybody else might think. You had your independence, but you also had Asriel, a family you could visit any time you wanted, classes that you actually kind of enjoyed and didn't simply endure _..._ did it really matter, in the end, that you were currently using half-a-dozen misshapen cardboard boxes as a makeshift bookshelf?

In the shower, you mentally review your agenda for the day. You’re an adult now, one who has their own place and everything, and that means grocery shopping. Grocery shopping in turn means list-making. As much as you might want to, you can’t just blow your entire budget on chocolate bars and Scooby-Doo fruit snacks. You have to buy  _vegetables_ and shit. Or at least, frozen dinners with something resembling vegetables in them.

When you've showered, you return to the bedroom with damp hair only to find Asriel still lying on the floor, now curled up in a little ball on his makeshift nest of blankets.

With a sigh, you kneel beside him, propping your chin up with your fist as you contemplate your next course of action.

You could throw yourself on top of him. You could scream. You could dump a glass of cold water on him.

That is when you catch sight of one of the dumb lug’s feet sticking out from underneath the quilt, paw pads looking tantalizingly pink and squishy.

You grin.

_Poke._

Asriel lets out a screech, flying upright, and you burst out laughing.

 _“Chara!”_ he cries, clearly trying to look irritated as he runs a hand through his dishevelled golden mane. “Don’t _do_ that!”

“Well, it woke you up,” you retort when you can finally speak without giggling. “That’s what you get for being lazy.”

“I'm not being lazy, I'm _enjoying my weekend,”_ he shoots back, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Who the heck willingly gets up at seven on a Saturday, anyway?”

“ _I_ do. And I'm sure I'm not alone, either. There’s bound to be plenty of other people eager to seize this beautiful day.”

Still grumbling, Asriel finally stand up, dumping the blankets back on the mattress. He starts to make the bed like a good boy, and as a reward, you tweak his ear affectionately. He tries to bite your hand, but you dismiss it as him still being sleepy.

It’s your turn to make breakfast, and that means toast. You’re not allowed to attempt anything more complicated after what happened with the scrambled eggs. (You don’t talk about the scrambled eggs.) Still, you insist upon doing your fair share of cooking, even if “your fair share” amounts to little more than making sure the bread doesn't burn.

In the kitchen, you stand with your hands planted on your hips as you watch the toaster. You don’t want to take any chances: after all, your luck with food preparation is...not the best.

Despite having your back to the doorway, you can still pinpoint the exact moment Asriel enters the room. Judging from how quiet his footsteps are, he’s clearly trying to be sneaky, and so you humour him by staying put until you feel his hand hovering at your side.

You sidestep him just before he can tickle you. He groans, and when you turn around to stick your tongue out at him, he’s pouting.

“I wanted to make you yell,” he says sulkily.

At least a dozen innuendoes come to mind, but you settle for telling him sweetly, “Try that again and I’ll tear your arms off.”

“I’ll tear your arms off first,” he replies just as sweetly, wrapping his arm around your waist and resting his chin upon your hair.

The toast somehow ends up burnt despite your best efforts to be attentive, but upon slathering your share in Nutella, you decide it’s hardly noticeable.

“Are you sure you don’t just want _me_ to do all the cooking from now on?” Asriel asks, crunching his own blackened piece.

“Shut up and eat your charcoal,” you say as you throw a piece of crust at him.

You each swallow a colourful array of pills along with your toast. Neither of you mention them, but both of you are watching to make sure the other person swallows, and when you kiss afterwards, you may or may not each have an ulterior motive.

By the time he starts on the dishes, Asriel is fully awake. At the very least, he’s doing an excellent impression of it. He’s back to his presentable old self, tidy and well-dressed in slacks and a sweater vest, looking for all the world like a “nice boy” despite being a nearly seven-foot-tall goat man who’d spent all of breakfast absentmindedly threatening to kill you. You, meanwhile, probably look like you just rolled out of bed, what with your oversized hoodie, tousled hair, and eye bags. Nobody would ever guess that you were the early riser of the two of you, not unless they saw those bruise-like circles underneath your eyes and realized just how bad your insomnia must be.

When Asriel steps away from the sink to dry a plate, you lean in to fill your watering can and say, “What do you think would happen if I gave the plants energy drinks one day?”

“Superpowers,” Asriel instantly replies.

“For me or the plants?”

“The plants, duh. They’re the ones being given something strange.”

You dip you finger into the top of your can and flick a few droplets at him. “Drink up, you thirsty little flower,” you say.

Asriel flicks soapy water at you in retaliation. You dodge it easily and take the watering can into the living room.

Every window in the apartment is lined with potted plants. Herbs, flowers, succulents, whatever you could find, whatever you could afford, you’d bought them all as soon as you moved in. It’s not the same as having a proper garden, but it’s nice to have some greenery around, and Asgore promised to keep a corner of the yard on reserve for you, so you’re satisfied.

By the time you've finished watering and Asriel's done washing up, it’s almost nine. The store will be opening soon, and if you get there early, you’ll only have to deal with a minimum of people. Despite all of Asriel's complaining about getting up so early on the weekend, you know that he’s aware of why you do so, and soon enough, he’s by the door and ready to go without you having to nag him even once.

The grocery store is just a few blocks down the street from where you live. About a fifteen minute walk, give or take a bit. Asriel has a car, but you don’t, and so having a place to buy food within walking distance was important to you. The Dreemurrs had offered to buy you a car as well, but you’d refused. It’s only fifteen minutes, after all, and the walk to the supermarket is the only exercise you really get these days. If you didn't take advantage of it, you’d feel guilty as shit the next time you saw Toriel about your health and she asked about your physical activity. At least this way you can say you walk a lot.

“See,” you say, swinging Asriel's hand in a large, obnoxious arc. “I don’t need your stupid car. I could do this by myself if I wanted to.”

His face takes on that pinched look it always gets whenever you talk about not needing him, but all he says is, “You still need me to carry everything, though.”

“I'm weak,” you reply breezily. “And you’re my Big Strong Boyfriend who just so _happens_ to eat ten times his body weight at every meal and is therefore the reason why we have to get so much food every week. So no complaining.”

Although you’re theoretically shopping in tandem, you and Asriel each have your own lists. Your list has things like canned soup and instant noodles and frozen pasta on it: simple, junky meals that you can prepare with minimal disaster whenever you’re alone and lacking the spoons for anything more complicated. Meanwhile, Asriel's list has things like onions and paprika and brown sugar, because apparently the white sugar in the cupboard Just Won’t Do sometimes. You won’t even try to pretend you understand why he buys half the things he does. Still, most of them will eventually turn into something tasty for you to eat, so even if you don’t get why,you can’t help but feel a little bit excited whenever you see him adding something new to the cart.

Grocery stores used to be hell for you, you muse as you watch him pondering the canned vegetables. Brightly lit and full of strangers, they were dens of overstimulation that always left you feeling terrified, even when you were with someone safe like Toriel or Frisk. Funny how things change over time. Now you’re at a point where you could probably bump into a total stranger and _not_ instinctively want to punch them in the throat.

You steer clear of strangers just in case. Better not to risk it.

Once you have all the necessities, you mentally calculate how much money you have left before happily tossing a bag of chocolate chips into the cart.

“If you want anything else, I can buy it for you,” Asriel offers, the way he does every week, and you roll your eyes.

“No thanks,” you reply as you contemplate adding a bottle of chocolate sauce. “But if _you_ want anything else, then by all means, go ahead.”

You've had this discussion at least a hundred times already, although it had admittedly been more of an argument than a discussion in the beginning.

“We’ll be living together,” Asriel had said to you once. “I don’t see why it’s such a big deal for me to pay for things sometimes.  Are you seriously going to be happy living in a place without any _lamps?”_

“Yes,” you’d answered firmly, and then he’d thrown one of his tantrums and you’d tuned him out for the rest of the night because _his tantrums are not your fucking responsibility._

(If you keep telling yourself that, maybe you’ll believe it someday.)

It wasn't that you didn't want lamps. It was more complicated than that, even if you didn't really know how to explain it properly.

It was that you've lived your entire life feeling beholden to others. You've always felt pressured to repay them for bothering to care about you, even if they didn't explicitly demand it, and then you’d turned eighteen and Toriel and Asgore had decided to pay your university costs alongside Asriel's, and that was when the guilt had once again become almost too much to bear.

The last time that had happened, things had gone...pretty badly.

But if you could figure out a way to live completely on your own, without accepting any more help than was normal or necessary, maybe you could actually start to spend time with them without your every interaction being tainted by your guilt.

That's what you hope, anyway.

When Asriel told you that he wanted to live with you if you moved out, you’d agreed because the thought of waking up beside him every morning set fireworks bursting in your chest. Not because you wanted him to continue taking care of you, the way he’s been trying to do your entire life. Thus, the rule became that everything was separate. You shared your space and divided up the chores out of sheer necessity, but everything you bought was yours and everything he bought was his and you always went _exactly halves_ on anything you couldn't buy yourself. If he wanted a couch, fine, but you weren't going to sit on it unless you could pay for half.

(Which you can’t, yet. But you have a job at the library and make a little extra selling shit on Etsy, so hopefully you’ll have enough saved up soon. You _do_ kind of want a couch, even if you’re being difficult about it.)

“That’s stupid,” Asriel had snapped upon hearing this the first time. “I'm not going to buy a couch if you’re just going to sit on the floor anyway.”

You think he was probably trying to convince you to give in by pointing out how silly you were being, but you’re nothing if not stubborn, and Asriel wound up giving up first. Which means sitting on the floor for now, sure, but it won’t be forever. And when you _do_ finally have your couch, it’ll be _your_ couch, not some lame charity couch that’ll eat you up inside every time you use it.

Asriel doesn't offer to buy you anything else, but he _does_ start dropping his own snacks into the cart. You suspect he’ll “change his mind” about a lot of them later and end up giving them to you, but whatever. It’s not worth fighting about.

“Look how disgustingly domestic we’re being,” you say when you leave the store laden with shopping bags.

“It _is_ pretty disgusting,” Asriel agrees happily.

You’d take his hand if you could. But you can’t, as your own hands are full, and so you settle for gently kicking his ankle instead.

“Every time you do that, I'm going to drop a shopping bag,” Asriel threatens.

“I love you,” you say, and he smiles, eyes warm, and says, “I love you too.”

Somehow, the groceries end up being put away with disappointingly little fuss.

Because it’s still your day to cook, lunch ends up being sandwiches. You attempt to make a soup to go along with them, but the pot boils over while you’re distracted by a book you’re reading and you can’t be assed to make a second attempt.

“Look,” you say proudly, setting Asriel's sandwich down in front of him. “Perfectly edible.”

“I don’t think it really counts as cooking if all you’re doing is cramming cheese between two slices of bread,” he points out, but he still eats something you prepared without keeling over afterwards, so you’ll call that a victory.

By the time Frisk arrives for the standard weekend hang-outs, you’re folding laundry on the floor as you nurse your bottle of chocolate sauce and Asriel does homework. You have homework as well, but it can wait; you can’t relax when there are clothes to be folded, and besides, you have a knack for bullshitting assignments at the very last minute.

Laundry is your kingdom, much like cooking is Asriel’s, mostly because he likes to use that awful Mountain Fresh detergent that means you can’t go anywhere near him without experiencing a total sensory assault, leaving it up to you to preserve your relationship by keeping his clothes smelling delicious. Besides, he never remembers to separate the colours and whites, and you’ll be damned if you ever have to wear an all-pink ensemble again because of his carelessness.

“Howdy, Frisk,” Asriel greets as they kick off their shoes at the door. Frisk ripples their fingers in a little wave, then comes to kneel beside you.

“You’re here _again?”_ you say, watching as they dump the contents of their backpack out onto the floor, as though you hadn't been the one to suggest that they come over in the first place.

In response, Frisk leans over and kisses you on the cheek.

“Eugh,” you say, wiping at the spot they kissed. Frisk giggles.

The afternoon passes with the three of you lazing in the sunlight that streams in through your open windows. Asriel is reading some stuffy-looking legal textbook, Frisk is scribbling away at a sheet of math problems they brought with them, and after finishing the laundry, you get out your knitting, still not feeling particularly inclined to do your own homework. Frisk’s cellphone sit in the middle of the circle you three make, blaring J-pop.

It’s always peaceful whenever Frisk comes over. They’re such a quiet person that it’s hard for you to resist the urge to fall silent as well. You never feel any sort of pressure to _be_ or _do_ anything when you’re with them: simply enjoying one another’s company is enough. It’s a nice change of pace.

Privately, you've been wondering if they’d be interested in becoming your third roommate when they finish high school, but you've yet to bring it up with anybody. Your tiny apartment may be enough for you, but the thought of asking Frisk to give up a proper house just to keep you company makes your stomach hurt. If they said no, you’d be disappointed, but if they said yes, you’d be devastated.

You probably won’t be asking them any time soon, not unless they express a desire to live with you themselves, but that’s okay. You’re happy just seeing them between work and classes.

As the afternoon stretches onwards, the sunbeam moves across the living room. The three of you move with it, following the light as you work and talk quietly about your lives.

At some point, the music Frisk is playing is interrupted by the chirping of a text notification. They pick it up, reading the message onscreen, then say in a soft voice, “Mom wants to know if you want to come over for dinner.”

“Sure!” Asriel says instantly, ever the mama’s boy.

You, however, are silent for a moment.

“Very well,” you say at last, and Frisk taps out a quick reply.

Because it’s getting to be late in the afternoon, the three of you leave soon afterwards. Once you get outside, Frisk returns to signing, standing in the middle of your little group so that you and Asriel can both see as they tell you all about some frog girl Monster Kid is dating.

As you sit down to dinner with Frisk and the Dreemurrs, you can almost remember what it felt like to be a child, when your place at the table was truly your own and not merely the place of a guest. That, in turn, brings back memories of gut-twisting anxiety; of the need to keep that place, to earn the right to stay, and of responsibilities you reached for without truly understanding them.

It’s strange to think that you've moved on to worrying about more mundane things, like rent and groceries and what to do about Asriel's occasional shedding.

It’s strange, but...nice.

Despite how much you've changed, your family has stayed the same. The house is just as bright and comfortable and golden as it’s always been, Frisk is just as cute, Toriel's cooking is just as good, and when Asgore offers you a cup of tea after the meal, you almost burst into tears.

Thankfully, you don’t. Instead, you accept it with a smile.

You do your best to savour the tea. You can never get it to come out quite right when you make it by yourself.

The goodbyes afterwards are a mess of hugs, and before you can step outside, Toriel takes your hand, squeezing it and saying, “You are always welcome here, my child.”

“I know,” you reply, and for once, you think that you might mean it.

But somehow, that doesn't change anything.

When you were younger, leaving the Dreemurr house always seemed so _scary,_ as though they were the only sanctuary you had from the big, bad world outside. But now you've built yourself a new sanctuary, and with another safehouse just across town, it doesn't feel as scary to step outside your door these days. No matter where you are, there’ll always be somewhere safe just within walking distance.

Your heart feels light just thinking about it.

After crossing the street, you glance behind you and catch sight of Frisk blowing you a kiss from the window. You pretend to catch it in your hand, then mime throwing it as hard as you can onto the ground before grinding it beneath your heel. Even from across the street, you can see their shoulders shake with laughter.

The night is cool and smells of green things, the wind carrying the faintest hint of spring. Asriel keeps his arm around you protectively as you stroll through the quiet street together. You’re wearing his jacket, plus your own and a sweater, but you’re still shivering in the evening chill, and so you lean into his heat.

Despite the contact and the general feeling of contentedness that almost always comes with having a full stomach, discomfort prickles at you.

Finally you ask, “Do you ever miss all that?”

You don’t specify what _that_ is. You don’t really know yourself. People, you guess. Light. A proper house. Real food. There’s too much _that_ to be able to name them all.

“Sometimes,” Asriel replies, because he’s blunter now, less inclined to try and spare your feelings. You appreciate that. “But not as much as I’d miss you if you’d gone off without me. I'm happier with you.”

You kick his ankle, because you've decided that’s now code for _I love you._ He kicks you back, prompting you to hook your arm around his neck and pull him down for a kiss, as loud and slobbery and gross as you can make it.

When you let go, he asks, “If I kick you again, will I get another one of those?

This time, you punch him in the arm. A gentle punch. A loving one.

As your building begins to loom in the distance, you say, “We’ll get a real house someday.”

Asriel doesn't say _I could buy you one now, idiot,_ the way you suddenly fear he might. Instead he says, “That sounds nice.”

“It’ll be huge and glorious and we’ll have fifteen cats and fifteen dogs and plants _everywhere._ We’ll invite everybody over every single day. And _you_ may have the honour of being my kept man.”

Asriel snorts, but when you grin at him, he grins back, and it takes all of your willpower to refrain from pulling him back down into another kiss.

Like most nights, you and Asriel fall into bed tangled in each other’s limbs. It’s muscle memory, the way you fit together now, and in the dark he rains kisses down upon your hair and neck and eyelids, whispering _I love you, I love you, I love you._

“Fucking dork,” you whisper back, and he laughs, but doesn't stop kissing you.

In the morning, Asriel will probably make pancakes and you’ll drown yours in syrup the way you always do. Both of you will put off your medication as long as possible, until finally you’ll both take them out of guilt from trying to deceive each other. If you’re feeling strong, you’ll probably spend some time outside: maybe you’ll go to Asgore's in order to help in the garden for a bit. Maybe you’ll even get some more golden flower tea. Then, in the evening, you’ll finally get started on your homework as Asriel makes dinner, and when it’s all over, you’ll once again fall into bed with him.

On Monday, the cycle will begin again, a pattern as familiar and comfortable to you now as a beloved sweater would be.

That night, you drift off while holding Asriel. Sleep comes easily to you for once, and even in your dreams, you’re looking forward to the coming day.


End file.
